


Crookshanks: Stinky Bastard Man

by rewmariewrites



Series: Harry Potter Shorts [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A moment of peace, Fluff, Gen, Hogwarts Fourth Year, everyone loves crookshanks, they just express their love in different ways, was the yule ball before or after the dragon?, what even is a real timeline, who knows not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rewmariewrites/pseuds/rewmariewrites
Summary: His best friends are mean. His best friends are mean people who don’t care about him, and don’t care about his obvious and concerning weakness to cats, which is something that Voldemort could probably figure out and use against him, or something. He says as much right to their faces.





	Crookshanks: Stinky Bastard Man

**Author's Note:**

> this is ridiculous and i blame accio-shitpost for it  
> http://rewmariewrites.tumblr.com/post/180129184707/accio-shitpost-harry-holding-crookshanks

      It’s not often that they have the Common Room all to themselves, and when they do, it’s not often that they’re not trying to foil someone’s dastardly plans or desperately catch up on their homework. As it is, they’re mostly just… relaxing.

      Hermione is by the window, books laid out in front of her, contentedly working on an assignment that’s not due for another two months.  _ Just in case,  _ she says, but Harry thinks that she really just enjoys being able to do the work without the time crunch.

      Ron is sprawled across the floor, a game of Wizard’s Chess set up in front of him. He has his chin in his hands and he’s frowning at the board - he hasn’t moved in probably ten minutes, and the chess pieces are starting to get antsy. One of the knights has almost edged its way entirely off the board, and is about to make a run for it.

      Harry himself is in a perfect position to observe his two best friends because he has draped himself upside-down across the couch that’s kitty-corner to the fireplace, legs over the backrest and head near the floor. His glasses have fallen way up near his eyebrows but, if he squints, he can  _ kindof _ see through the bottom half of his lenses. He had been trying to finish a Potions essay due next week, but, well. It was boring. He hates Potions. And Snape. If he pushes his textbook just a  _ little _ closer to the fire, just to see if it  _ might _ combust from sheer proximity to the heat of the flames, what about it?

      Then, suddenly, approximately fifteen pounds of half-Kneazle lands on his stomach as if dropped from the sky, surprising the breath out of him and making him twitch so hard he slithers right off the couch and almost into Ron’s carefully-constructed board.

_       “Oi.”  _ Ron says, pointing a finger at Harry accusingly but not looking away from his game. The git.

      “It was the cat,” Harry manages in response, between greedy gulps of air. Crookshanks should  _ not _ be able to wind him so easily - he’s defeated Voldemort like, at least three times at this point, as well as a dragon, and all it takes is a carefully-placed cat to get the best of him?

      “Crookshanks, bad. No, stop. Don’t do that.” Hermione offers, inflectionlessly, from across the room. She’s entirely absorbed in her homework and obviously could not give two fucks.

      His best friends are mean. His best friends are mean people who don’t care about him, and don’t care about his obvious and concerning weakness to cats, which is something that Voldemort could probably figure out and use against him, or something. He says as much right to their faces.

      “That’s nice, dear.” Hermione offers, sticking a quill behind her ear and picking up another, identical quill.

      “Spiders are worse.” Ron mumbles into his hands.

      Harry looks at Crookshanks, who has climbed into his lap and made himself comfortable. “You understand me, don’t you, you stinky boy.”

_       “Mrow.” _

      Harry cradles Crookshanks close to his chest and steps,  _ very _ elegantly, across Ron’s chessboard towards the empty part of the room. “Stinky, chubby boy.”

_       “Mroow.” _

      Absently, Harry dances Crookshanks across the room, practicing the steps he’s going to need to know for the Yule Ball, while singing a little song just for Crookshanks:  _ “Mean, stinky, chubby-fat boy!” _

_       “Mroowww.” _

      “Wait, what?” Hermione asks, finally looking away from her work.

      Harry dips Crookshanks like they’re dramatic lovers in a romance novel, then holds him as high in the air as he can (like that monkey does in the new Muggle movie, the Lion Prince, or something), swaying him back and forth gently.

      “Stinky,” he says.

      “No! That’s mean!” Hermione cries.

_      “Mrow,” _ is Crookshank’s contribution.

      Harry spins a little, then pulls Crookshanks close to his chest again, still swaying. Crookshanks wiggles until he’s belly-up in Harry’s arms, like a baby, and bats at Harry’s hand until he pets Crookshank’s stomach.

      “Stinky bastard man,” Harry says affectionately, dancing slightly closer to Hermione.

      “No!” She cries again, making grabby-hands for Crookshanks. Crookshanks stretches backwards and bats at her with his paws, before looking at Harry consideringly and biting his hand, which had stopped petting him very briefly. Rude.

      “Naughty boy. Brat cat,” Ron says from Harry’s right side, not looking up from where he’s finally moving pieces around the board.

_       “Noooo!”  _ Hermione looks distraught, convinced that her best friends are genuinely insulting her chubby, fuzzy, bastard-cat.

      Harry just laughs, light and carefree, and plops back down onto the couch with his Potions homework, setting Crookshanks gently on his lap.

      Crookshanks gives one polite little,  _ “Mrow,”  _ as if thanking Harry for the dance, before pointedly jumping directly onto Ron’s board, scattering the pieces everywhere. Ron immediately flails and gives an undignified squawk, unable to get his long limbs underneath him quick enough to catch Crookshanks before he disappears up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. He had two chess pieces clamped in his jaws, and - 

      “Naughty boy! Stinky, awful, bastard man!” Ron yells up the stairs after him.

      An entirely too-satisfied  _ “Mrowww,”  _ echoes down the stairs, and Harry can’t help but laugh until he’s  _ weak  _ with it. Hermione looks satisfied but horrified, but she’s laughing too hard to scold Ron for insulting her cat, and after a moment even Ron starts to laugh. They laugh until they’re weeping, wheezing messes, and all Hermione can do is flap her hand weakly in the air.

      It’s not often they get to laugh like this, after all, so they make sure they get the most they can out of it. And if Crookshanks is the victim of their mirth this time, well. He was entirely willing. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at rewmariewrites.tumblr.com! it used to be a different url but go to this one now pls thx <3  
> *i might come back to edit this later cause i wrote it in like 40 minutes but liiike later later*


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